Sweet Pickles

Speaking of awareness...

Frenchie just sent me this jewel from The Onion.  It reminded her of the story of mine and Brad Bagby's old 'Meta-Awareness Campaign'.  Of course, at the time, that wasn't what we called it... back in college, I'm not sure that either of us knew what meta meant. 

Anyhoo... shortly after I graduated from college, Brad and T-Bagg and I attended a friend's backyard keg party.  It was in the town of our state's party school, which also had the state's highest reported rates of STDs (a.k.a., Brad's alma mater, natch).  We were only attending the party as a favor to a friend, who begged us to accompany her.  We were bored, didn't know anybody there, and therefore didn't care how drunk we got or if we made asses of ourselves.  What was weird about this particular party, and what was annoying both Brad and me, was the number of people using words like "awareness" at a keg party in the state's STD capital.  So, we decided to start messing with posers.  Without any pre-planning, forethought, or prior consultation, Wonder Twin powers were activated, in the form of indignant hipster activists.  And once we got in the zone, there was no stopping this tag-team.

We started telling other guests about our campaign to raise awareness about awareness.  As we bemoaned the lack awareness of awareness, people were eager to get on board, even though they weren't quite sure what we were doing.  They wanted to know more.  We condescendingly hinted that their inability to grasp what we were doing was a symptom of the problem.  People needed to become more aware of being aware... it's as simple as that.  But perhaps their tradition-bound worldviews couldn't allow them to see that.  At one point, as we continued drinking all their beer, I think I might have suggested that they couldn't really wrap their minds around it because they hadn't gone to school in Austin (which, among these wannabes, had an effect similar to mentioning your recent trip to Jerusalem among devout Jews, Christians, or Muslims).  The guests were so earnest in their desire to understand our awareness-of-awareness campaign that only one person had the balls to cast doubt (although hesitantly) on our bullshit.  No one else wanted to risk seeming unaware, or worse, indifferent to awareness.  When the single hesitant doubter raised a reasonable question, Brad lashed out with passion.  Something to the effect of, "Don't try to impose your oppressive mindset on us!  Just because you are unable to think outside the box doesn't mean the rest of us have to march in lockstep with your corporate values!"  Further debate was silenced.  For the rest of the night, as we drained their beer resources, we were the Buddhas of Suburbia! 

Just a sweet little memory.

Watching an interview about the American automobile industry on the News Hour with Jim Lehrer, I had a flashback to an exchange I witnessed/overheard a decade ago, and it made me laugh again. 

Years ago when I worked for the Japanese, I was in the backseat of a rental car headed from Orange County to Malibu.  One of my bosses, Nakajima-san, was the driver (because he lived in Santa Monica), and my other boss, Ueda-san, was riding shotgun.  They were conversing in rapid-fire Japanese, and I had long since given up trying to follow along.  After a while, the weather started drizzling lightly.  Nakajima-san began fumbling around, but was having difficulty engaging the windshield wipers on the rental car.  Ueda-san began advising him on which buttons to try.  

Frustration increased as they were unable to figure out the windshield wipers.  After a couple of minutes of agitation, they located the illogically-placed control, only to determine that the windshield wipers were not operational.  And I began paying attention to the conversation again...

Nakajima-san:  [hissing] "Beikoku no kuruma... baka ie!" ("American cars... worthless!")

Ueda-san:  "Mochiron." ("Of course.")

Sweet Pickles:  [leaning forward from the backseat] "Vice President, did you just say that American cars are stupid?"

Nakajima-san:  "Your Japanese is improving, Junior Apprentice Pickles."

Sweet Pickles:  [turning to Ueda-san] "Senior Division Manager, did you just agree with Vice President that American cars are stupid?"

Ueda-san:  "I also agree that your Japanese is improving."

Sweet Pickles:  "Thank you, but why won't y'all answer my question about American cars?"

Ueda-san:  "We did."

Sweet Pickles:  "HA!!!"

Those two are also who, indirectly, taught me the word p*ssy in Japanese, one time when we were shopping for go-carts.  They were snickering like elementary school kids because the American manufacturer's name was Manco.  (And there you have it.) 

Ueda-san passed away around the time I moved here.  Nakajima-san retired and moved to Kamakura.  I miss them both. 

"We were just creative kids with no outlet!"

Getting drunk on the phone with Wipey last night, he reminded me of the baroque prank calls that our group of friends in high school used to make when we were bored. These prank calls were highly elaborate, interactive, and contained intricate narrative structures. After recounting several of our greatest hits with Wipey, my beer and I ended up on the horn with Brad Bagby, with whom I recalled a couple of others. At one point during all the laughter, I pondered, "What was wrong with us?" Brad said, "Nothing... we were just creative kids with no outlet." Which made me feel better about the fun we used to have at others' expense. Here's a sampling of what we smalltown geniuses cooked up...

Target: out-of-place substitute teacher with a large bouffant
Persona: Deborah the assistant manager at Taco Bell (played by Sweet Pickles)
Premise: notifying lucky customer about the coupon booklet she had won in a random drawing
Objective: convince victim to present herself to the manager of the Taco Bell to claim her prize
Hightlight: the victim’s increasing enthusiasm because of how hard Deborah was selling the greatness of the amazing coupon booklet (Victim: “But I didn’t sign up for any drawing.” Deborah: “Then you need to find out who to thank for signing you up, because you are gonna LOVE this coupon booklet!”)

Target: dorky gay guy
Persona: mysterious suitor (played by Brad Bagby)
Premise: trying to connect after near-miss encounter at our county’s one gay club
Objective: convince victim to show up for a first date
Hightlight: mysterious suitor’s indignation at not being remembered by the victim, considering the intensity of the moment (Mysterious Suitor, after describing himself to the victim: “How can you still not remember? But we DANCED!” [note: the word ‘danced’ was pronounced ‘dahnced,’ in the British manner])

Target: JV cheerleader
Persona: socially-awkward girl in the Flag Corps (a real person in our school, played by A-Flor)
Premise: unpopular admirer becomes too close
Objective: freak out JV cheerleader with the prospect of a lesbian stalker
Hightlight: turn-in-the-conversation toward the erotic (Socially-Awkward Flag Corps Member: “Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night and can’t fall asleep, I pull out the yearbook and open it to the page with my favorite picture of you. And when the fan is blowing cool wind across my body…” JV Cheerleader: [quickly hangs up])

Target: a romantically-linked couple of band dorks
Personae: the girl’s fictitious cousin from out of town (played by A-Flor), the guy’s fictitious cousin from out of town (played by Sweet Pickles)
Premise: the boyfriend/girlfriend wants to break up with their girlfriend/boyfriend, but is so upset/angry that they can’t talk to them on the phone themselves
Objective: to break up a couple
Hightlight: ex post facto reckoning at school the next week, in which Sweet Pickles was confronted by the incensed flute player

Guess what this weekend is!

RED RIVER SHOOTOUT!!!

Misty-Water-Colored Memory of the Way We Were:  One Friday each October, back when George H. W. Bush was president, we always skipped classes to caravan up I-35 to Big D for the annual UT-OU game.  Although we never got tickets to go inside the Cotton Bowl, we still made the migration every year for the par-tay, and about 15 of us would stay the weekend in a friend's 2-bedroom/1-bath apartment across from the SMU campus.  One year, we decided that we needed something more special than the usual "Hook 'Em" or "Go, 'Horns" to shoe-polish on the back window of K-Bor's car for the ride north, but couldn't figure out what we should write.  That genius T-Bagg proposed: "Dallas-Bound and 'Horny" (and we made the 'o' in Horny in the iconic shape of Bevo's head).  On the highway, we got more complimentary beer passed to us from the open windows of other fans' speeding cars than we knew what to do with!

"Look good hair, go 'head look good."

I don't know why, but Brad Bagby's recent return to Music Slut trivia brought back a fond memory.  Back in 2005, when Kanye West's Gold Digger was rocking our respective worlds, Brad Bagby used to sing to himself a modified version of the lyrics "Get down girl, go 'head get down" (see the title of this post) whenever he was getting ready in front of the mirror.  Sweet Pickles wonders if this is still happening on a regular basis.

One time, at band camp...

Wipey and I brought with us, in addition to his euphonium and my bassoon, posters and stuff cut out from magazines to hang on the walls of the dorm room we were going to share... you know, like college students do.  [And yes, we brought our own Scotch tape and thumbtacks.]

1.)  We had just finished 7th (or 8th?) grade... I think it was the summer that Duran Duran's New Moon on Monday and Steve Perry's Oh, Sherrie were out.  I.e., we were four or five years away from college.

2.)  We were only going to be living in this dorm for a week.

3.)  The camp was being held on a satellite-campus of our state's land-grant institution, two counties away from our hometown.

Brad Bagby (whom, at the time, was not yet our BFF, and still on my mother's list of bad influences) and his saxophone had to bunk with a trumpet-player with a mullet.

P.S. - I was probably wearing something very similar to this:

Keepin' it real.

Frenchie is conferencing it up in Chi-Town this week, and Sweet Pickles is reminded of a debate he witnessed several years ago.  Early on at a technology 'summer camp' for visual resources curators, participants were considering whether practitioners should hold joint annual meetings with art librarians, or convene separately each year.  The discussion was pretty dorky, for the most part, until one dude mentioned to us other smartasses sitting at the back of the room, that convening separately would cut the pool of potential conference hook-ups in half.  Hey, if you want people to attend your conference, you need to be thinking about things like that.  I'm just sayin'.

Only that fool.

G-Wrizzle is back in town after more than a month in 'British Honduras' doing his archaeological thang.  Saw him out tonight at birthday drinks for JustJess, where he regaled the crowd with the annual tales of jungle parasites... but with a twist.  According to G-Wrizzle's scratching-gestures, he had been experiencing a recurring itchy sensation between his legs (I hear ya, brother).  It seems that this year's bot fly had embedded itself in the 'taint region'.  Since, apparently, bot fly removal is notoriously tricky, inquiring minds wondered how G-Wrizzle approached the problem.  "I did a little shave down there, and slapped a piece of duct tape over it!"  Sweet Pickles is really going to miss that fool when he leaves.  And if any doubts remained in my mind as to why I chose art history over archaeology as a major, this reconfirms my decision.  There ain't no bot flies inside museums!

Misty water-colored memories of the way we were...

Last night after I got home from barhopping and around lunchtime when I woke up, I was part of a little back-and-forth on Facebook with former co-workers of mine from the waterpark where I worked every summer in college and graduate school.  The exchange (redacted below) took place in the comments on a photo of recent new father Big Daddy's swimming pool...

Some Dude at 8:55pm June 5

Does [Big Daddy's newborn daughter] have a bikini?

Sweet Pickles at 1:06am June 6

If [Big Daddy's newborn daughter] doesn't look good in a bikini, she can't work at [the waterpark where we all used to work together] (I'm sorry). But if she DOES, I'll expedite her application!!

Old Friend at 10:20am June 6

Sweet Pickles, I thought the only job requirement was keeping the bikini ON until at least 7 p.m.... not looking good in it-- can you afford to be that picky in [our hometown]? And if there's such a thing as a stripper gene, I'd say [Big Daddy's newborn daughter] is a carrier-- didn't her daddy's lily-white ass almost get us sued once for making an unscheduled appearance in the office during business hours?

Sweet Pickles at 12:15pm June 6

On more than one occasion, if I'm remembering correctly.

Big Daddy at 2:17pm June 6

My ass was the main attraction at the water park why do you think we charged so much to get in that place!

Even after all these years, and with a newborn on his hands, Big Daddy still never fails to bring the sexy.  And even after a law degree and a kid of her own, Old Friend still never fails to deliver the sass.  Both of them are part of what I miss about summers in the Lone Star State, where random instances of undress were a part of daily life.  I'm thinking a little December reunion on the drinking patio of our favorite watering hole when I'm home for the holidays might be just what the doctor ordered. 

The more things change...

I was going to title this post "I Got Nothin' For Ya," by way of apology for my ass-draggin' inactivity as of late.  But then I was inspired by Yankee Librarian's recent retrospective posting looking back at the past year in her life.  Whereas the Librarian's year was one of big changes, the Pickle's was one of the same ol' same ol'.  Therefore, I decided that my own retrospective would be more focused on what was I doing at this time last year. 

In May of last year...

I was thirsty/hungover.

My Spanish-speaking students were being titillated with a fictional town in Gulliver's Travels named "Laputa" (which weirdly, I was reminded of by one of the aforementioned students just this afternoon!).

I was making lots of Top 3 lists and posting lots of Madonna videos.

Mama and Daddy Pickles visited me.

I was attending parties.

I was nostalgic for the good ol' days when my crash-dieting actually led to drastic weight-loss results for me.

I was irate about Low-Church social mores governing the local acquisition of booze.

I was seeing dumb summer blockbusters with friends at the local theater.

I was comparing local temperatures unfavorably to the much better weather back home.

Déjà frickin' vu!  Am I in a rut, or what?!?!  Although it's a Groundhog Day-level of repetition, I figure I should be grateful that at least it's not anything awful that's recurring. 

Sheesh... anything new in the world of Sweet Pickles?  Nothing earth-shattering.  Let me see. 

Between going out and various parties, I boozed it up 6 times between Friday and Sunday evenings.  [Not sounding very new yet, is it?]

I exercised with K-Fiel this morning, and we ran into L-Shep at the gym on campus.  At a welcome picnic early this evening, I taught our new students how to play Red Rover, Red Rover. 

Brad Bagby called about the rendition of Fiona Apple's song Criminal that I used to sing in the voice of this girl from elementary school who had a speech impediment that we used to make fun of (don't worry, it was never to her face).  He couldn't remember exactly how I did it, and needed me to perform it for him again.  Just FYI, here's how it goes:  "I've been a bad, bad durl.  I've been tareless with a delicate man.  And it's a tad, tad world.  When a durl can break a boy just because she tan."  Don't ask me why this particular song... there was never any particular reason.

So, basically, I guess I still should've just titled this post "I Got Nothin' For Ya!"  Except for this:  For those of you who don't read DListed regularly...  A.) you probably should start, and B.) you might not have seen this Literal Version Video of Total Eclipse of the Heart yet.

Big Daddy is now a daddy!

Like D-Hug, I also seem to have multiple friends having babies (mostly daughters) recently.  The latest special delivery from the stork comes to an old PIC (partner-in-crime) of mine from my waterpark days.  For years, this friend's nickname has been "Big Daddy," and now he's actually somebody's real daddy.  This is the guy who, during a staff meeting, once said to me "Oh man, look at this mosquito bite," and when I glanced to where he was pointing between his legs, had his huevos hanging out the bottom of his shorts (intentionally).  This became a running gag among our friends for months, but Sweet Pickles never fell for it again.  I can't wait until his daughter is old enough for me to share that story (and many others) about father.  Congratulations, Big Daddy!

"No wonder the garbagemen keep giving us looks!"

After my first semester at college, everyone was home for the holidays.  Several of us were running around town with old friends who were still seniors in high school.  One of those friends had it in for a JV cheerleader, whose father was the chief of the local fire department.  So, we bought about half a dozen pornographic magazines at a convenience store, tied them together with a big red ribbon and bow, and left them stacked nicely on top of that family's garbage cans, which were waiting curbside for pick up the next day.  Attached was a note we had penned, which went something like this:

"Dear Sanitation Workers -- In this season, our family's thoughts turn to you and the hard work you do all year.  To express our appreciation for your services, we had considered giving you money, but felt that was a bit impersonal.  So, instead, we hope that these will brighten your Christmas.  Enjoy!" 

Introducing Another New Feature: Stories!

Lately, I've been remembering lots of funny things that happened in the past, either to me or people I know.  These stories always make me laugh, so I figured I should spread the love.  The stories always begin "One time,..."  Many of you will have already heard some of the stories, but that's okay... you need to be reminded.

One time, when I was a freshman in college, T-Bagg was taking an advertising class.  She had some big project where she had to create a breakfast cereal, and design a box for her new cereal.  She was over at mine and Wipey's dorm room eating pizza one night, bemoaning her complete lack of any ideas and how the project was due soon.  That's when Wipey and I came up with the idea of Janet Jackson's Control Bran.  The tagline for the product was "What has your other cereal done for your lately?"  We got one of those little single-serving boxes of cereal that they always have in dormitory cafeterias, and cut up the inside liner of one of Wipey's Janet Jackson cassettes to decorate it.  Wipey and I got totally in to it.  I still can't believe we convinced T-Bagg to turn it in, but that's what's great about her.  Bitch ain't scurred.  She had no other ideas, and time was running out, so what the hell?  Wipey and I were on the verge of wetting ourselves as we worked on it... we could barely cut or glue anything at all.  In the end, T-Bagg got a C on her project.  I remember being peeved.  I wanted an A+ or an F-, all or nothing!